


(burn it down)

by fshep



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Delinquent Akechi Goro, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 12:17:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fshep/pseuds/fshep
Summary: Ren’s plans to keep his head down aren’t justfoiled, but irreparably demolished.And that might be okay.





	(burn it down)

The thing about first impressions is that, no matter how much effort you exert, it amounts to jack _shit_  if you’ve already got a nasty reputation. Still, Ren can’t just— _not try_. His caretaker, his teachers, his peers... they’ve concocted a shadow of his true self. If he can shape it into something _better_ , prove them _wrong_ , he just might manage not to spiral into isolated depression.

It’s 8 o’clock in the morning and Ren is, outstandingly, fucking it up. His upcoming year is as good as ruined because nobody will be able to get past the way he'd trudged into the classroom, sopping wet, an hour past the first bell.  
  
_I need to go,_  he reminds himself—and yet his feet stay stuck to the pavement beneath the storefront's awning. He can feel the clerk's eyes boring into the back of his head. It makes him tense in preparation for the inevitable scolding.  
  
Troublesome delinquent. Get lost, kid. Shouldn't you be in school?  
  
_No. He doesn't know_. He couldn't.  
  
But surely he won't take kindly to a loitering student disrupting potential customers, no matter how few and far between they pass through.

If he just knew which direction he needed to go to get to Shujin, he could use his bag as an umbrella and make a run for it. Why didn't he pay more attention to his surroundings when he'd been in the car with Sojiro instead of getting lost in his own head?  
  
Messy. Late. Unmotivated. A bullet-pointed lens worn to perceive Ren's actions for weeks and weeks to follow.  
  
He takes a step forward and then thinks better of it. To the right, he searches for any signs that might guide him, and to the left for any vaguely familiar landmarks. He shuffles his feet, sticking his hands in his pockets and flexing his fingers to dispel the stiffness of his limbs. After a moment, they curl around his phone before removing it so he can check the time.  
  
There's not much of it left.  
  
"Damn it," he whispers, glaring at the device.  
  
"Excuse me," croons a voice, and Ren flinches, figuring that it belongs to the sales representative behind him. He's soon proven wrong by the teenage boy standing before him, distinctly unassuming as he holds an umbrella above his head with a tentative smile. "I apologize if I'm mistaken; I couldn't help but notice you were looking a little lost. I don't recognize your face... Are you a first year?"  
  
Taken aback, Ren shakes his head. "No. Second. I'm a transfer student."  
  
Just your ordinary New Kid™—no skeletons in _his_ closet!

"And I am," he adds, reluctant. "Lost."  
  
"Ahh," the boy marvels, leaning in to more accurately analyze Ren's visage and, lowering his gaze, confirms the number stitched into his blazer. "Well, we can't have that. I am curious, however..."  
  
He looks into Ren's eyes, searching. Ren stares back at muddied maroon and belatedly realizes he's being prompted to prompt him _back_.  
  
"About what?"  
  
"That's a smartphone, isn't it?" He points to Ren's phone dangling loosely in his hand. "Shouldn't you have GPS?"  
  
Ren closes his eyes against the misty silence. And then slowly, torturously, his cheeks enflame with heat. The boy begins to chuckle in earnest and Ren wants to sink into the ground beside the rain and trickle down the drain, far, far away.  
  
"... Yes," he murmurs. "I wasn't thinking straight."  
  
Upon reopening his eyes, the boy's expression softens in tandem with his fading laughter. "First days are overwhelming," he concedes. "I'm glad I approached you. I'd be happy to escort you to Shujin."  
  
Phrasing like _that_ doesn't do much to aid Ren's mortification, but he won't look a gift horse in the mouth. "Thank you," he says, relief soothing the sharp ache in his chest.  
  
Tilting his umbrella forward a fraction, the boy says, "I'm Akechi Goro," just as Ren notices that he's Ren's upperclassman. That quells a bit of his embarrassment; it's a senpai's duty to look out for bumbling juniors, right?  
  
"Amamiya Ren."  
  
"Well, Amamiya-kun, we’d best be on our way." He sweeps his arm toward the sidewalk, baring his teeth in a wide grin. "Let's go."

 

Akechi, Ren soon discovers, loves to talk. He succeeds in holding a conversation without a single spoken word from his company. It doesn't seem to bother him, either; he's content to mercilessly dump information onto Ren, from the selection of bread sold on campus to staff members’ habits and personalities.

If he zones out, just a little, it's only because he's thinking about how they're still going to be late, even with Akechi's guidance. Maybe, if he plays his cards right, he can convince his new homeroom teacher that it was an honest mistake, and he'll volunteer himself to clean the classroom for the next week or two...

Eventually, Akechi does fall silent, but Ren doesn’t hesitate to bridge the gap.  
  
"You know a lot about Shujin."  
  
"I'd hope so," he says, chagrined. "I'm the student council vice president."  
  
Of course he is.  
  
"Oh," says Ren, shellshocked.  
  
Akechi flaps a hand. "No, no. None of that. It'd be a little different if I was the president, but, really... all my job entails is being Nijima-chan's impulse control. For somebody so dedicated to keeping everything in order, she's actually quite scattered. That just goes to show how deceiving appearances can be.” A gentle laugh. “I'm looking forward to uncovering more about _you_ , Amamiya-kun."  
  
"You are?"  
  
"Haha. Why do you sound so surprised?"  
  
"..." Ren purses his lips with a shrug. "There isn't much to uncover."  
  
_I don't have any substance. What little that set me apart from somebody ordinary landed me in this shitty situation._  
  
"We'll see," Akechi sings. "Shujin's just up ahead. Do you remember what class you're in?"  
  
Not only does Akechi walk him to the classroom—he steps inside, right beside Ren, and bows deeply to Kawakami, his homeroom teacher.  
  
"Please excuse Amamiya-kun," he says. "I was struggling to carry various equipment to the Student Council room after things had been scattered about during break, and he was kind enough to help me."  
  
Kawakami, Ren, and the rest of his class stare at Akechi with varying degrees of shock. Eventually, Kawakami shakes her head, lifting a hand up to her temple.  
  
"It's fine," she says, wary. "But please try to remember that academics should be prioritized over extracurriculars."  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
"And get to class before Seta-san calls your father."  
  
Akechi straightens with a razor-sharp smile. "Yes, ma'am."  
  
And then he leaves.  
  
Ren hovers by the doorway for an unbearable moment until Kawakami calls him forward to introduce himself to the class. He does so, quietly, drowned out by whispers of _Did you see that? He's the one?_

_He looks so unimposing!_

_Yeah, just wait until he loses his shit, though._

_But he's friends with Akechi-senpai!_

He slides into his chair and does his very best to tune them out, fingers tightening around the edge of the desk.

 

After class, Ren wanders the halls, keeping his head down to avoid probing glances. He catches the faint smell of bakery-fresh bread and recalls Akechi's ramblings; before he can think better of it, his feet take him to the small shop run by a disinterested girl with her hair tied into braided twintails. She doodles in the margin of her notebooks, eraser shavings scattered around dark strokes. The style is reminiscent of a manga, surprisingly well-drawn and stylistic to boot. Ren debates commenting, but she quirks an eyebrow at him when she finds him ogling, so the words get caught in his throat. He instead lifts his gaze to the selection of bread.

"Cream-filled, please." That's what Akechi said was best, so he'll follow his recommendation.  
  
And while he nibbles at the bread by the windows, staring out at the courtyard, he decides that it's _edible_ but nothing to write home about. He wonders if he'll get the chance to share his opinion with Akechi. It would be understandable if they never cross paths after this—if Akechi's kindness was out of mere obligation—but Ren hopes they do.

It’d be nice to have an ally. Even _if_  it’s one with subpar taste in snacks.  
  
He should head back to Leblanc. Won't do him much good to get lost within the Tokyo streets _again_ and miss curfew.  
  
Although it takes him longer than it should, wandering aimlessly with all the wonder of a foreigner, he manages to find his way back. He slinks into the café and avoids eye contact with Sojiro before the man grunts a greeting at Ren and advises him on how to close up shop. Obeying is simple, and flipping the sign is an ordeal that spans less than a half-minute—yet by the time Sojiro leaves and he’s left alone in the dim confines of Leblanc, he’s exhausted.  
  
It’s too early to call it a night, but that’s exactly what Ren does. He tabs between apps on his phone until his eyes burn and he’s lulled into a premature, dreamless sleep.  
  
  
  
By the end of the week, his peers have had ample time to talk amongst themselves.  
  
The stories they’ve concocted are horrendously inaccurate. Ren has caught whispers of _guns_ and _drugs_ as if either of those things are easy for anybody to obtain, let alone a teenager. Their stares weigh down his shoulders like a physical weight. He tells himself they’ll lose interest in him soon. High school’s filled with scandals; eventually, he’ll be old news.

He’s begun to favor lingering in the classroom until the rest of his classmates have dispersed. Time burns slowly, and he has no extracurriculars or part-time jobs, so there’s no need to rush.

Quarter-past the last bell, the girl that sits in front of Ren is still here, fiddling with her phone and radiating so much anxious energy that Ren worries she’s about to be physically sick.

Ren pauses, just a beat, and then opens his mouth.  
  
“Takamaki-chan!”  
  
He jumps, as does she. The voice comes from a man in the doorway, decked in athletic gear and a widened grin. His hands bracket each side of the door frame as he leans inside, whistle thumping gamely against his broad chest.

“K-Kamoshida-sensei,” Takamaki greets, waving her arm in an aborted motion.  
  
“You’re still here? Did you forget about our meeting?” He sticks out his bottom lip in what’s probably intended to be some kind of pout. Secondhand embarrassment slams into Ren like a truck. “It’s rude to keep an adult waiting, you know.”  
  
“Yeah, I—!” She laughs gainly. “I-I…”

Silence.  
  
The aura of dissociative shock that twists Takamaki in its grip is so achingly familiar that Ren stands, abrupt, his desk screeching against the linoleum while his own countenance schools itself into calm indifference. He dips his head.  
  
“Excuse me. Takamaki-san was helping me with one of our assignments.” Gesturing to his open notebook, he prays that Kamoshida doesn’t come closer to investigate the validity of his claim. Ren had just been doodling in the margin of his notes, reminiscent of Bread Girl. “I’m sorry for keeping you,” he adds, directed toward Takamaki—fixing to nudge her back into action.  
  
“R-Right!” And, _wow_ , she’s a shitty actor. But Kamoshida seems more concerned with Ren.  
  
“Ehhhh?” He drops his arms and chooses instead to cross them over his chest, stance firm as he shoots Ren a sneer. “You should keep better company, Takamaki-chan… but it’s kind of you to pity the new kid.” He jerks his head back. “Anyway, let’s go. We’ll have to make this quick.”  
  
Ren murmurs a soft sound of protest. Should he interfere? He’s already pushing his luck—  
  
Although… he doesn’t even know, not _really,_ what’s going on. Takamaki’s body language paints a pretty clear picture, but—until he hears it from her own mouth, all he can do is make assumptions.  
  
Helpless, he gapes like a fish out of water until Takamaki turns to him with a strained smile.  
  
“It’s okay,” she says, soft. “Thank you.” And then, shoulders set into a brave curve, she grabs her books and bag and marches toward Kamoshida.  
  
Ren watches them go. He turns to his own books and packs them up, mechanically, and then slings his bag over his shoulder. When he enters the hall, Takamaki and Kamoshida are gone. He can hear the distant sound of instruments—band, most likely—and gentle chattering from behind a nearby classroom’s doors.  
  
He lingers by the stairwell and eventually makes his way down. As he rounds the corner, he bumps into a friendly face.  
  
“Akechi-san,” he says, rearing back to a respectable distance.  
  
The boy’s face lights up. “Amamiya-kun!” Ren is surprised that Akechi remembers his name. “I’m glad you’re still here. I wanted to meet up with you again.” When Ren tilts his head, he elaborates, “I doubt you’ve been given a proper tour of the school. I’ve been busy with prepping for the year with the rest of the student council, but as it just so happens, I’m free this afternoon. May I steal some of your time?”  
  
As if Ren has anything better to do.  
  
“Sure.”  
  
Akechi smiles, sidling up beside Ren and placing a hand on his back. He guides him downstairs and toward the direction of the courtyard.  
  
“Forgive me if I’m showing you places that you’ve already been.”  
  
Ren shakes his head. “I usually just stick to the classroom. I tried the bakery, once. It was alright… not much of a selection.”  
  
“Ahh. You’re just a bread elitist,” he teases.  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
Akechi shows him an area outside that’s shaded beneath the building, decked out with various vending machines and tables. It’s out of the way, but Ren can’t imagine that this kind of trendy place is often left unoccupied.  
  
“You should enjoy the spring weather while it lasts. Even with this shade, the heat can become unbearable.”  
  
Ren thinks that’s a little ironic coming from somebody wearing a turtleneck and _leather gloves_ during warm, sunny weather, but he refrains from commenting. Akechi leads them further outside, by the tennis courts and soccer fields. They aren’t very big, but a few first-years are out tending to the area, hard at work.

“Shujin is known for its volleyball team,” Akechi explains. “We once had a formidable track team, but they disbanded last year. Nowadays, the students seem to be more interested in culture clubs.” He peers at Ren. “Have you considered joining anything? Broadcasting, mathematics…?” A slow smirk. “No, no. You’re the type to go straight home, aren’t you?”

Very rude, Akechi—calling somebody out like that.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Ren says, “I haven’t really thought about it.” Even if he found something that piqued his interest, would he be accepted? The prospect of rejection is off-putting.

“The student council is always accepting members.” Akechi bestows him with a saccharine smile.

That’s even more unlikely.  
  
“What’s with that face?” Akechi asks, leaning in with a pout much cuter than Kamoshida’s.

Off-kilter, Ren parts his lips around an aborted explanation. Akechi hasn’t mentioned anything about the rumors or his reputation. Then again, being on the student council, working so closely with school staff members, he must know… Right?  
  
“Would I really be welcome?”  
  
Akechi lifts a hand to his chin. “I don’t see why not. You’re worried that you wouldn’t be allowed?” Ah. So he _does_ know. “That’s nonsense. Would it not be a positive reflection of your behavior? If anybody’s concerned, I’ll just give my word to keep an eye on you.”  
  
“I… I see.” He ducks his head. He recalls the way Akechi had lied to cover him, reminiscent of his own gamble with Kamoshida. Ren, although determined not to _completely_  ruin his future, had a lot less at stake. But Akechi? He’s got _golden boy_  written all over. “Why are you being this kind to me? You don’t have to be so accommodating. Especially…”  
  
“Especially toward a delinquent transfer student?” Akechi laughs. Then, he turns, gesturing for Ren to follow. “Follow me. There’s another place I’d like to show you.”  
  
Ren obliges. They head back into the building, climbing all three sets of staircases to the rooftop. Akechi heaves the door open and gestures for Ren to cross the threshold.  
  
“Are we allowed to be up here?”  
  
Akechi raises a finger to his lips. “It’s not exactly encouraged, but it isn’t totally off-limits. So long as you don’t ditch class up here to smoke, you’ll be fine. I’ve found that it’s a peaceful spot to have lunch.”  
  
Weather permitting, Ren believes it. It’d be nice to eat in silence rather than the stifling whispers of the classroom.  
  
Because Akechi finds a place to sit, so does Ren. Akechi stretches, humming contentedly. He and the sun get along well; he glows beneath its rays, lashes fluttering against brightened cheeks.  
  
Then, he says, “The principal says you were charged with assault. Is that true?”  
  
There it is.  
  
“Yes,” says Ren, “I was.”  
  
Goro leans forward, propping his elbows against his knees. His eyes take on an edge that Ren can’t quite place and, for one heavy moment, he fixates on Ren’s face. In seconds, Akechi has become completely unreadable.   
  
“What happened?”  
  
_Funny,_  Ren thinks, _how a stranger’s more willing to hear me out than a court of law._

The door slams open, effectively cutting him off. Takamaki stumbles onto the rooftop, wiping at her face and heaving shuttering breaths. She skids to a halt when she notices Ren and Akechi.  
  
“Oh,” she says, and then with more recognition: “Oh! Amamiya-kun. You’re still here.”  
  
Ren furrows his brows. “Yeah. Are you okay?”  
  
Clearly, the answer’s no, but Takamaki still says “Yeah!” which would be more believable if it hadn’t been said with the same level of conviction she’d used for Kamoshida.

“Takamaki-san,” Akechi hedges, looking uncomfortable. He doesn’t seem to know how to prompt her to talk, so he leaves it at that. The silence conflicts with the atmosphere of three students converging on a school rooftop, and Takamaki cracks under the pressure.  
  
“Sorry,” she says. “I just—I wanted some air.”  
  
“On the roof, of all places?” questions Akechi, and it’s a little crude and a lot skeptical. Ren figured he’d have a bit more tact.  
  
But he raises a good point: Why hadn’t Takamaki just gone home?  
  
“Stop looking at me like that!” she snaps, hugging herself. “I wasn’t going to—I...”  
  
And then she breaks down. Literally, too, crouching down and burying her face into her knees. Ren lowers himself beside her, his hand hovering over her shoulder.

“If he did something to you,” Ren murmurs, “we should report it.”

“‘He’?” Akechi echoes.

“Kamoshida.”

His expression sours. “... Good luck. You’re new here, so it’s no surprise that you aren’t aware of the power he holds over Shujin’s staff. All because he’s some hotshot Olympic medalist. Honestly, it’s embarrassing.” Akechi bites his lip, turning away from Takamaki to stare pensively at nothing in particular. “There are rumors… that he abuses students. Physically, and sexually.”

Takamaki flinches. Ren finally lowers his hand, gently, and rubs her upper back when she leans into it.

An ember of irritation flares within Ren, but years of conditioning keep his voice steady, calm, and respectful. “You knew about this?”

“They’re _rumors_ , Amamiya-kun, and the school year has just begun. Nobody’s come forward. I’ll do anything in my power to help, but I’m afraid that doesn’t mean much.”

“He…” starts Takamaki, lifting her head. “It’s true… the rumors. He didn’t—I wasn’t—” She struggles to find the right words. “He just messed with me this time. Put his hands all over me, but… my clothes were left alone. I don’t think he had enough time to…”

Akechi and Ren fill in the blank.

“Anyway, I’m glad I stayed after class. Even if it seriously pissed him off…” She turns to Ren with watery eyes. “Thanks again for covering me.”

“It’s… no problem,” he stutters in the face of her sincerity.

“Did he make any other demands? For a later date?” inquires Akechi.

“Ah, no… but he has my cell phone number. He could call me at anytime.”

“Hmm.”

Ren inclines his head up at him. “What are you thinking?”

“Ideally, we resolve this before Takamaki-san is put in another unsavory situation.” Again, to Takamaki, “Can you refuse him?”

“No,” she says, firm. “If I do, he’ll threaten my friend Shiho instead. I won’t let him lay a hand on her.” Her eyes are blazing. “Is it really possible, if—if you have enough time? Do you think we can stop him, or… get him fired? Put him in jail?”

She shifts, so Ren stands up and offers a helping hand. She takes it, dizzy with possibility.

“Perhaps,” says Akechi. “But our odds aren’t exactly favorable.”

Ren is unfortunately and _exceedingly_ knowledgeable in how little sway a couple of teenagers have against an adult with some clout. Still, he won’t turn a blind eye to this. He can’t.

Even if it highlights the target on his back.

“If there’s a chance—no matter how small—we have to try.”

Akechi, though vocally reluctant, looks at him with curious interest. He nods, as does Takamaki, and—at the very least, nobody here will be tackling this alone.


End file.
